Royally Screwed
by JojoLightningfingers
Summary: Note to self: Never party again. MarthIke, slight lemony-ness, but it's only really heavily implied.


**Wanted to try something different with my writing this time. Also wanted to get Marth and Ike out of the way.**

* * *

His head was fuzzy when he woke up. Fuzzy and pounding. Ike swore under his breath, tried to sit up, then gave up and fell back on the bed. The light was too bright and the silence too loud.

What _had_ he done last night?

If his mind was to be trusted, Marth was the answer.

The mercenary vaguely remembered a drinking game with a few people earlier that night in celebration of... something. He couldn't quite recall. It ended in a draw, as Game and Watch seemed to be able to hold an infinite amount of alcohol with no ill effects.

Marth had competed as well. When he'd backed away from the table with muttered excuses, his face was red and he looked like he was going to pass out. They'd all stumbled away to their lodgings in a drunken stupor.

Somewhere along the line, Ike must have forgotten the reason he couldn't drink – if he had too much, he'd get to a point where he'd lay the first thing he saw that had four limbs and a pulse. Blame Shinon for that, I guess.

Bad luck for a tipsy Marth. Or, if you looked at it the right way, good luck. Ike was a bisexual – he didn't care what the gender was, as long as he loved them and they loved him back. Not many people knew for certain that Marth was gay, but a lot of guesses had been made, due solely to the fact that the boy wore a tiara. Nobody cared that it was his sister's, nor did they listen to him when he told them. To put them off, he had asked Samus out, and she'd accepted.

Ike grabbed the prince's arm and asked, "Headed to bed?" Marth, almost unable to speak, nodded. "My room's closer, you can crash there." His words, though slurred, were still coherent. The Altean, drunk enough to forget that _his_ room was actually closest, followed.

The Crimean's mind blanked for a minute, then the next thing he remembered was a hot body pressed against his own, and something warm and wet on the shell of his ear. Ike plucked at the nub between his fingers, eliciting a pleasured whimper from the prince. A small sound that fed his need.

Fumbling for his next memory in the fog of a hangover, he recalled a tongue swiping across his belly, then lower, but pointedly ignoring his area of need. He groaned in frustration – he knew Marth was a tease, but this was ridiculous. Marth's lips brushed the skin of Ike's thigh as he smirked. His tongue dragged a wandering line about the inside of the mercenary's thigh. Ike tangled his fingers in teal-blue hair, panting with a strained – almost pained – look in his eyes.

Giving in to the urgent expression on the sellsword's face, Marth allowed his lips to meander upward, drawing a slow path up the skin and licking softly, lightly, _teasingly_. Ike moaned at his attentions, hitching a leg over his back. The last thing he remembered was a tangle of limbs, a stab of pain in his body, then a pleasure so great it whited out his senses.

Sighing, he glanced to his side.

No Marth.

This troubled him greatly. A sense of guilt and shame washed over him. Ike made a mental note to never drink again. The mercenary, his headache subsided somewhat, flung on his tunic, pants, and boots and got out of bed, almost tripping over the plate armor on the floor.

So Marth didn't have armor on. Ike glanced at the clock and rolled his eyes. Well of course he didn't – it was way too early for any matches. Carefully pushing the metal to one side, the sellsword walked out, his intent to find the prince.

He was just outside the door, hugging his knees with a shattered expression. The boy was dressed in his blue-lilac tunic and his pants. _Now, how to open the conversation..._

"About last night..." the Crimean began, sitting next to Marth. "I'm sorry. That was wrong, really wrong. Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

"I didn't mind. You were who I wanted anyway." Cloth rustled as the prince looked up at Ike. "You're the only one who knows now."

"But... I thought you had a girlfriend."

"I don't _really_ love Samus," Marth confessed. "I'm only dating her so people will stop calling me queer, even if it's what I am." He snorted. "Weak, I know. I've had to hide it in the castle. It's considered blasphemy where I come from. After all, two males can't produce an heir." The boy sighed and rested his head on his arms. "Maybe I'll tell everyone someday, but it's not today..."

"Yes it is," Ike asserted. "Tell them and ignore what they say because their opinions aren't worth spit."

Marth was silent for a moment. Then: "Do you love me?" It was a hard question to ask, but he had to ask it.

Ike searched his heart in absolute quiet. Five agonizing minutes passed. Then, the mercenary said, "Yes. I'd always though you were... elegant? Refined? You're beautiful, and I love your sense of humor. You're what a lot of people would call a kindred spirit." Smiling, he added, "I'm one of them." As an afterthought: "You'll have to excuse my description – I never was good with words."

The Altean laughed. "You're excused. I am glad. Really."

Ike put an arm around Marth and snorted. "You know Samus will probably kill us both when she finds out."

"So you're saying we're screwed," Marth said gloomily.

"Royally," Ike clarified, sighing in defeat.

"No, you were royally screwed last night, remember?" Marth grinned and they both laughed aloud.

* * *

Around the corner, a blonde, busty, pissed-off bounty hunter scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper.

'Ways to kill Marth and Ike'.

A vein in her forehead twitching, Samus set to work.

Royally screwed indeed.

* * *

**Somewhere in this, I was supposed to work in some humor, but as my life never does what I want it to, it decided "Screw that!" and made this.**

**The title's still my favorite part of the story.**


End file.
